Call His name

She watched life seeping through the pores of the child.

This child — her hope for a better future, the one for whom she had prayed and then taken matters into her hands when, under the cover of darkness, she had made a deal with the enemy of her soul.

Now as she watched him, her heart broke all over again many times as she finally conceded that she was helpless to stop the holes from which his life seeped through.

Her husband would come in every now and then, “Is he still breathing?” he would ask, then he would take the towel from the small bucket by her feet, wring it, and wipe the sweat off the face, neck, hands, and legs of the child. It annoyed her because how could he not see that it was the life of their son he was wiping away? But she was too tired to fight.

Too tired from crying.

Too tired from trying all night to renegotiate the deal.

Looking back now, she could see how her desperation had clouded her view so she couldn’t see that she was giving too much for nothing.

God would have given her a child — she was sure of that now.

But her patience didn’t hold when winds of adversity blew stronger than she could ever have imagined.

The child turned and let out a groan that grew louder and stronger until it was full-blown wailing. It was as if he knew.

She tried to comfort him but he wouldn’t receive it. He pushed her away as if he knew.

No one else knew how she had gotten this child.

The burden of guilt had grown steadily until now, when he wouldn’t even let her comfort him, it suffocated her.

“Why?” she screamed, “Just tell me why!”

Her husband rushed in and carried the baby still wailing.

“God knows best”, he told his wife, “We just have to trust Him”.

She threw herself on the ground and began to roll from one end of the room to the other, screaming, trying to release the guilt, but it wouldn’t come out.

She continued to throw herself on the ground and roll.

Her husband tried to comfort her but she wouldn’t receive it.

*****
The child wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, and he wouldn’t stop crying.

By morning, word had spread that something was wrong with this miracle child that had been a big cause for celebration five years ago.

Sympathizers began to arrive, sharing ideas on what could be done to help the situation.

“Boil leaves and cover the bucket and him with a thick towel so the steam can get into his body and draw out all the bad stuff. It will come out as sweat”. His mother aimed a really sharp side-eye at the person who had made this suggestion. Why can’t they see that it’s not sweat!?! It’s his life leaving his body!

Someone even said they should give the child boiled red-neck lizard.

When the preacher arrived later that morning the child’s mother locked herself in a room and refused to come out.

After persuading most of the visitors to leave, the preacher asked the father why there was a red cloth around the child’s neck.

“My wife said her mother put it on her neck as a child”, he told the preacher “It belonged to her grandmother and it makes her feel close to them”.

The preacher told him to remove the cloth from the child’s neck.

Before he could do it, his wife rushed towards them like a person driven by a wild spirit. “You wouldn’t dare”, she screamed, “You wouldn’t dare it!”

She began to wail, “You want to kill my child”, she took the child from her husband, “You want to kill my only child”.

“Madam,” the preacher told her, “If you do not want this child to die, remove that cloth from his neck.

When she refused, her husband tried to remove the cloth by force. She fought with him and ran away with the child who was by now too weak to wail as loudly as he would have clearly wanted in this situation.

Her husband tried to run after her but the preacher stopped him.

“If removing that piece of cloth from our son’s neck is all that’s needed to save him, why wouldn’t she allow it?” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the tenseness in the room, his frustration providing a faint light to help some people in the room recognize their own feelings.

He sank to the ground, grabbed his head in his hands and began to cry, “Help me, sir”, he begged the preacher, “Please, help me”.

Everyone remained quiet.

Some people wiped tears from their eyes.

*****
Someone began to sing.

Others joined in.

Soon, they had a full-blown praise session and prayer meeting going on.

The preacher went out to talk with the mother who was just outside the house. She was standing in the sun, sobbing quietly, rocking the child in her arms and wiping life seeping from his face, hands, and feet with her dress.

As the preacher approached her, she stopped. She held the child, tighter like she was trying to protect him from approaching danger.

The preacher held out a hand, “Just call His name”, he told her.

“Why?”

“Call the name of Jesus”.

“At the mention of the name of Jesus”, she recoiled, looked at the child as though for one last moment, and then handed him to the pastor.

He took the child and went inside.

She refused to follow him or even face their direction.

Inside, they cut the cloth from the child’s neck who now lay in his father’s arms, the last bits of life seeping through his pores. He was silent, his eyes open, searching his father’s face.

*****
As people began to scream and wail from inside, she knew it was done.

This child was no miracle.

The red cloth did not belong to her mother.

She couldn’t call the name of Jesus because the ones who had given her the child were present, threatening her with a painful end if she dared it.

No one could see them.

No one ever had although they had been present from the day she conceived this evil seed — a seed that has now been harvested. They didn’t even wait for it to mature first.

Now she was in bondage, with nothing to show for the price she paid for the cursed seed she went to get when her patience gave way.

All she wanted was a child.

Her captors claim they fulfilled their end of the deal — but was the price worth it?

Is it worth it?

The preacher’s words rang in her ears again.

“Just call His name. Call the name of Jesus”.

She watched people come and go.

Some tried to talk to her.

But the preacher’s words continued to ring in her ears, louder every time.

Maybe it was the deliverance she needed.

Maybe it was the path to making things right again — with God, herself, and her husband.

Her husband — maybe one day she will tell him the truth.

Today, she sat on the ground, under the sun, and let the preacher’s words sink into her soul until she could say it to herself — “Just call His name. Call the name of Jesus”.